


Flutter

by AngelOfTheMoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel Ficlet Challenge, M/M, Suspected Cheating, established Destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfTheMoor/pseuds/AngelOfTheMoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean thinks Castiel is cheating on him, so he follows him out one evening and discovers the shocking truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flutter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ doesn't belong to me.
> 
> This was written for the [ Destiel Ficlet Challenge](http://destielficletchallenge.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. The prompt I received was this: Person A thinks Person B is cheating on them, so they follow them out one evening. (You determine what they find.)
> 
> Note: Brief mentions of past character death as well as issues with alcoholism and mental health.

Figures that Cas would turn away from him sometime. Dean knows he’s impossible to tolerate, what with his bouts of alcoholism and spells of depression, both of which sometimes leave him incapacitated for weeks. With the only source of income being Cas’s job at the Gas-n-Sip, they scrape to get by. Dean’s held jobs before, worked as a mechanic, a construction worker, even a waiter. But with the next stretch of neverending drink or paralyzing despair, he would wind up missing work. If he didn’t miss work, then he did a piss-poor job. Either way, his bosses canned him. Dean never blamed them for not wanting to put up with his shit.

Dean tried seeing therapists, but they were all ineffective. It doesn’t help that he can’t tell them the truth without sounding insane. Besides, the sessions cost more than he and Cas can afford.

Dean knows that Cas meets up with his new love interest every Thursday evening. When Dean asks him about where he’s going, he always says he’s eating dinner with a few coworkers. But you don’t come home from that sort of thing looking so blissed out, cheeks flushed.

Dean’s curious about the lucky person who’s stolen Cas from him. He’s angry, of course; how can he not be? But that’s tempered with understanding. Despite what Cas may claim, he’s always known he’s not good enough for him. Seems like Cas finally realized it. Cas deserves the best. If he has sullied himself with his new choice, though, Dean will not hesitate to sunder the burgeoning relationship.

Tonight, Dean will tail Cas and finally discover who he’s been seeing.

In the bathroom, Dean examines his hair in the mirror, ensuring that it behaves. He winces as he catches sight of the solid gray tufts at his temples. It’s a rueful reminder that, at forty-one, he’s getting old. When Dean broods on this sign of aging, Cas always assures him that the touch of gray looks distinguished. That it only serves to accentuate his handsomeness. But Cas has no room to speak. He looks just like he did when Dean first met him. The same toned arms, whereas Dean has started to grow flabby. The same youthful blue eyes, whereas Dean’s green ones have become duller with experience and age. And of course there’s the hair situation. Cas _still_ has that thick head of gorgeous dark brown locks.

Dean sighs. He’s so freakin’ old, and this is where life has brought him. He’s an unemployed loser with a shitload of issues and no prospects. Fucking pathetic is what he is.

Dean follows Cas outside and climbs into the Impala. Cas pauses beside the driver’s door, and Dean leaves it open so they can talk.

“Where are you going, Dean?” he asks. Understandable question, as Dean rarely leaves the house anymore on his own. He’s prone to agoraphobia, panic attacks, and damn, is he a pitiful excuse for a man. Especially when you consider how fearless he used to be.

“Liquor store,” Dean answers.

Cas’s brows furrow in concern. Fuck, why had Dean used _that_ excuse? Cas probably thinks he’s about to go on another bender. “Be careful.”

“You know I will.” Cas stares at him with wide blue eyes, their expression bleak. They both know that’s a lie. When the curse strikes, Dean always loses control. But Dean’s not going to drink now, no matter how much he’s tempted. Tonight’s about Cas.

“I will see you later, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean calls after him as he strolls toward the Lincoln Continental parked next to the Impala. Dean fiddles around for a minute, pretending to get settled while Cas drives out of the apartment complex’s parking lot; then he pulls out onto the street. He trails after Cas, leaving a sufficient distance between them so Cas won’t notice him.

After about fifteen minutes, Cas enters a decrepit district, many of its buildings vacant and crumbling. He parks by the curb of a three-story red-brick edifice. Dean parks across the street as Cas shuffles into the building. He sits in the car for a little bit, questions flying through his mind. Who the hell wants to have a tryst in a place like this? What kind of bastard convinces Cas to rendezvous with them _here_? It should be condemned.

Dean shrugs off the frantic thoughts; he needs to concentrate on finding out what the hell is going on. He lumbers into the building, tiptoeing around the debris on the floor. He doesn’t find anyone on this level, so he turns to the stairs. Those things look rickety as fuck. But if Cas can go up them . . .

Dean ascends the stairs, hand firmly anchored to the bannister. He passes the second story, figuring he might as well start at the top.

There, on a table in the middle of the dusty, cluttered floor, Cas is lying on his stomach.

And he has _wings._

Wings being freakin’ _caressed_ by some brunette chick. She obviously knows how to show off her assets, what with that tight top and those jeans that hug her in just the right places.

A sinful moan passes through Cas’s lips. Dean clenches his teeth, irate. Whoever the fuck this bitch is, she can’t have Cas. Dean balls his hands into fists and prepares to confront Cas about whatever the hell he’s doing when the ground beneath him disintegrates.

He crashes through the damaged step, his head smacking the floor. Debris coats his body, and he rubs at his pounding temple.

“Dean?” Cas ventures. Dean glances up to find Cas peering down at him.

xxxxxxxxxx

It goes like this:

Six years ago, Dean became a demon.

Five years ago, Sam cured Dean and closed the Gates of Hell.

Dean had been unconscious at the time. Otherwise, he would have stopped Sam.

At first, Dean refused to believe Sam was dead. He spent six months attempting to resurrect Sam and six more months drinking and blacking out.

Through it all, Castiel stayed by Dean’s side. He would have tried to stop Sam because he was fond of both Winchesters, but he had been leading an offensive against Metatron, who had escaped from jail and assembled a considerable army of followers. The battle lasted for days, the fighting constant, for angels had no need of sleep. In a desperate bid to end the bloodshed, Castiel hurled Theo’s stolen grace at Metatron. That did the trick; Metatron fell. Castiel had already lost his wings, so now he was destined to be human for the rest of his days.

But he could still do good, he decided. Help Dean. Which he did. He disposed of Dean’s empty liquor bottles. He cleaned Dean’s vomit when he had a hangover. He ensured that Dean ate at least a little bit. He convinced Dean to bathe. He comforted Dean during his bouts of reckless grief, the nightmares that plagued him. The most prominent of these nightmares involved Dean waking up to find his brother’s cold body lying inches away from him. But he dreamed about other things as well. Hell, Alastair. Purgatory. All the deaths he’d witnessed, deaths for which he felt responsible.

Five and a half months after Dean had accepted that Sam was gone, he turned to Castiel, eyes bloodshot. “Why the hell are you still here?” he spat. “You could be doing better things.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” Castiel replied.

“Why the fuck not?” Dean snarled. “You’re wasting your life hanging around with a piece of shit like me.”

“No, I’m not.” Dean scoffed.

That’s when Castiel said it.

“I love you.”

Dean choked out a derisive laugh and downed a gulp of whiskey. “Right. You’ll find someone better once you get your ass away from me.”

“There is no one better.” Castiel approached Dean, who backed away and toppled backward onto the motel bed. Castiel put a hand on each of Dean’s shoulders and, eyes boring into Dean’s, explained, “I have seen your soul, Dean Winchester. I know the beauty inside.” He stroked Dean’s cheekbone with his fingertips. “It is impossible not to love you.”

A dam broke. Dean sobbed for hours while Castiel held him close.

Two weeks later, they settled in Nowheresville, Iowa. Life was hard, but they were content. Or they got by, at least.

But Castiel missed flying. He missed the weight of his wings. He still had the nubs, bony protuberances on his shoulder blades.

So he prayed.

Two months later, the angel Theliel appeared and explained how he might possibly regrow his wings. She bore an oil that could be rubbed into his skin and the wings as they grew. Since his body retained stubs of the original wings, Castiel should be able to regain his wings even if he could no longer be an angel, though nothing was ever certain. If the procedure worked, Castiel would have fully fledged wings after seven sessions.

Tonight was the seventh session.

xxxxxxxxxx

“That’s it?” Dean replies after Cas outlines the situation. He dusts himself off and stands up. “Why didn’t you tell me you missed your wings? Why did you _lie_ about where you’ve been goin’ every Thursday night?”

Castiel laces his fingers together. Those ginormous black wings flex with the gesture, and fuck if that isn’t distracting. “I wasn’t sure it would work,” Cas says quietly. “I did not want to . . . bother you with it.” Cas frowns.

“Huh? Why do you think that would bother me?”

“You already have . . . so much on your plate. I believe that is the expression?”

Dean feels a stab of guilt. What else is Cas afraid to discuss with Dean? How can he be so selfish, always taking so much from Cas that Cas fears taking anything for himself? Fucked up stupid asshole Winchester—

Dean can’t see for the moisture in his eyes.

Cas cocks his head to the side. Dean never fails to find that gesture endearing, and the affection blossoming in his chest only reminds him of how unworthy he is of Cas. “Dean?” Dean merely shakes his head as the tears drip from his eyes. “Oh, my love,” Cas sighs, his earnestness prompting Dean’s eyes to water anew. Cas glides down from the third floor and uses his thumbs to wipe the tears from Dean’s cheeks. He cradles Dean’s jaw with both of his hands, and his eyes are so damn _intense_ that Dean’s not sure he can endure it. “What is it?”

Dean jerks out of Cas’s grasp. “I wish you’d said something.”

“I told you—”

“I don’t care,” Dean snaps. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to—hide—things from me.”

“It is no trouble. I have kept my own counsel for millennia.”

How damn lonely is that? “But I want us to be _different_ , Cas. We’re _partners_. We share.” Dean flinches. Hypocrite, much? So many things in his life he should’ve shared, so many disasters he could’ve prevented. If only—

But he can’t conceal things from Cas no matter how hard he tries. Cas possesses a preternatural ability to see right through him. And his relationship with Cas—he’s trying to be more open. For this to work, Cas needs to do that as well.

Cas lowers his head. “I’m sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry.” Cas lifts his head and gives Dean a puzzled look. “I—perhaps I should’ve made these things clearer. Been more supportive.”

Cas smiles and closes the distance between them, gently pressing his lips to Dean’s. When they part, Dean realizes something. “Hey, can everyone see your wings?”

“No.”

“Then why can I see them?”

Cas beams. A rare full-fledged grin, beautiful. “Because my heart is mated to yours. And—as long as it is so—you will be able to see them.” He encloses a gentle hand around Dean’s wrist and pulls it toward himself. “Would you like to touch them?”

“Fuck yeah,” Dean exhales. Cas guides Dean’s hand toward the top of a wing, and his fingertips graze the feathers. They’re soft yet firm, like nothing Dean’s ever touched before. Cas’s breath hitches. Dean drags his index finger down an inch, and Cas whimpers. Dean raises a questioning eyebrow.

“They are sensitive.” Cas blushes. “The wings are an erogenous zone.” That explains all the sexed-up noises earlier. Not to mention why Cas comes home looking so debauched.

“Castiel,” Theliel calls. Shit. Dean forgot the angel was still here. They turn to face her, and she joins them on the ground floor. She extends a hand toward Cas, and Cas accepts it. “It has been an honor to assist you. I think you should know . . . you are very much revered in heaven.”

Cas releases her hand and glances down. “I shouldn’t be,” he says quietly.

“We all have our past sins,” Theliel assures him. “What matters is not our history, but what we make of ourselves.” Cas studies her, dubious yet contemplative.

She offers her hand to Dean, and they share a handshake. Her grip is strong. She eyes Cas before addressing Dean. “Take care of him. He is precious.”

Dean smiles at her. “I know.”

“Good-bye, Castiel. Dean Winchester.” Theliel disappears with a whoosh.

“Where shall we go now?” Cas asks.

“Home?”

“How uninspiring. No. I want to utilize my wings. We can go anywhere.”

Dean’s stomach twists. “I hate flying. And flying with you always made me constipated.”

“If you were not so nervous, I believe you would not get constipated.”

“Because I can control that.”

“Come. Where should I take us?”

“Um.” Dean doesn’t want to fly anywhere, but Cas _did_ just get those wings. He’s obviously eager to use them. “You choose.”

Cas spins Dean around and wraps his arms around him, notching his fingers together at Dean’s waist. Next thing Dean knows, he’s on a rocky shore. Waves crash against the land. The full moon seems to glow. In the distance, he spots a lighthouse attached to a two-story house. “Where are we?”

“Whitehouse Island. Maine. It is not the tourist season, so no one is here.” Cas examines the area and smiles. “Ah, yes. I used to visit this place.”

“Here? Why?”

“I enjoy the solitude, and it is beautiful, is it not?”

“Yeah,” Dean concedes. He scratches one of Cas’s wings, and Cas mewls. Dean threads his hand through the wing, relishing the feel of the feathers against his palm. When he tugs at the scapular, Cas emits the most obscene groan. He and Cas have fucked plenty of times, and yes, Cas has been enthusiastic, but not _that_ enthusiastic. Cas clasps Dean’s biceps, a question in those blue eyes, so luminescent in the moonlight. Dean responds with a short nod, and Cas shoves him to the ground. Dean is too focused on watching Cas's eyes darken with desire to care that the rocky ground is practically stabbing him in the back.

They strip each other slowly, reverently. They worship each other with fingertips and palms.

They make love, and together, they fly.

**Author's Note:**

> I got the name Theliel from [this website](http://www.archangels-and-angels.com/aa_pages/angels_general/angels_index.html), which claims Theliel is the Angel of Love.
> 
> I found the name Whitehouse Island by randomly browsing Wikipedia.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! Feedback is welcome! :)
> 
> I am on tumblr at angelofthemoor.tumblr.com.


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